


The Get Back Coach

by NephilimEQ



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Banter, Based on a Sports Post, Complete, Derek Is So Done, Derek is Derek, Eternal Sterek, Falling In Love, Fanart, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, NFL AU, Sarcasm, sports AU, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22502797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephilimEQ/pseuds/NephilimEQ
Summary: Coach Stiles Stilinski is the youngest coach of an NFL football team, and Coach Derek Hale is the new guy and feeling rather useless. He soon finds a new position on the coaching staff that keeps him close to the young and very attractive Head Coach. It seems to be the best thing that's ever happened to him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 267





	The Get Back Coach

**Author's Note:**

> This whole story is based off of this funny NFL story that came across my Facebook feed a year ago, and I was hit with the sudden inspiration to write this story. If there are inaccuracies with the portrayal of the sport, I am sorry, I did my best research and talked with all the men in my family...who were surprisingly useless. Thank you, internet.
> 
> Here's the link if you are interested: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_yFxISAQPs

** **

** The "Get Back" Coach **

Scott McCall looked up just in time to see his coach get nearly taken down by the referee as he ran alongside the field. That was the fifteenth time during the game, at least. And they still had a whole quarter to go. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the team and yelled out, “8, Red 27! 22!” and the players ran into position and the ball was hiked.

They ran through the play, gained eight yards, and the third quarter was called.

As he jogged over to the side to grab a water, he said to Raken, “Hey, you see how coach was nearly taken out by the ref, again?”

The halfback nodded and replied, “At this rate, Coach Stilinski is more in danger of getting tackled than you are, McCall,” and took a swig from his own water bottle, while Scott chuckled and commented, “You’re not wrong about that. He needs someone to keep an eye on him. We’re gonna get a damn penalty because of him.”

Theo nodded.

“Yeah, how about Lahey?” he suggested, motioning towards the young Running Back coach, and Scott snorted and said, “Yeah, no, he’d be too scared to touch him. Coach needs someone who can pull him off the side _physically_ , against his will.”

The full-end nodded again, chuckled, and then glanced over at their coaches and said, “How about Argent?”, and Scott snorted and quickly snapped back, “Are you kidding? Argent’s probably getting a kick out of seeing him getting mowed down every fifteen minutes,” and they shared a look.

Scott glanced back and then said confidently, “Hale, it has to be.”

Raken followed him back to the field as the game started back up and said, “Good choice. You wanna tell him his new job, or should I?” and Scott rolled his eyes.

Derek Hale was the newest coach on staff, their’ new Strength and Training coach, and so didn’t have as many responsibilities, but he was easily the most intimidating of all the coaches. He was built more like a wrestler than a football player, and after they’d seen him take down one of their linebackers in a practice, and bench press more than they thought was possible, they all had plenty of respect for the man.

As he got into position and organized his team, Scott glanced back over his shoulder one more time.

\--

Derek Hale looked at the two players who had stuck around after their first session in the gym after their last game. Theo Raken, right halfback, and Scott McCall, first quarterback. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked between the two of them and then arched an eyebrow and said, “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

McCall nodded.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but did you not _see_ how many times he nearly got thrown off his feet when he was on the sidelines?”

Derek tilted his head and conceded with, “Okay, yeah, maybe a few times, but he’s the Head Coach, guys, and I can’t just abandon my position to make sure he doesn’t trip over himself. I understand where you’re coming from,” he added with a nod, “But I have a job. And it’s not watching Stilinski’s ass.”

 _Not that I’d really mind,_ he admitted to himself. Stiles Stilinski wasn’t only one of the best damn coaches in professional football, but he also easily had the best ass.

And he may or may not have a huge crush on the guy.

Raken shot a look at McCall and then looked back at Derek as he suggested, “Look, it’s only during games, coach. He’s not just a risk to himself, but also to the other players. I mean, last week Dunbar nearly broke his neck trying to keep from running into him as he got shoved off the field! It’d only be _during_ the games,” he said a second time, looking almost desperate.

Derek mulled it over in his head, trying to decide whether or not he should take their advice…and then McCall pointed out, “If the ref runs him over more than once, _we_ get the penalty, coach.”

Okay. Point made.

“Fine,” he said, and both of his players let out sighs of relief.

McCall reached up and clapped a hand to his shoulder as he walked out of the gym and said, “Thanks, Coach Hale.”

He stared after them as they left and then thought about how he was going to bring it up to Stilinski. He _could_ mention it to Chris Argent, who was the Secondary Coach, but it seemed to be a cowardly way to approach the subject. It was better if he had the chance to talk to him face to face. Because he was new, he didn’t get a lot of opportunities to talk to him, as he mostly talked with Argent and Stilinski senior, the Offensive Line Coach.

Stiles’ dad was almost the antithesis of his son, with the way he approached coaching with a much more casual, laid back attitude, but still firm in the results that he expected.

Unlike his son, who was all energy, all the time, and seemed to practically bounce on the balls of his feet during every game, and coached with a fiery passion for the game and for his players that made him stand out in the NFL among all the other coaches, as if already being the youngest NFL coach ever wasn’t enough for him. The more Derek thought about it, the more he realized that the boys were right: Stiles needed someone to hold him back. Derek had seen it on the field on occasion; it was called the “Get back!” coach, as a joke, because that was all they seemed to say.

They were mainly used to keep the players from crowding onto the field, but were used for the coaches, too, from time to time.

Okay, so it wasn’t a horrible thing he’d been asked to do, and it wasn’t like anyone else was going to be able to hold the small hurricane-of-a-man back.

He’d bring it up at the next coach meeting.

\--

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t brought it up. Instead, a week went by and then they were at their next game when it all came out.

“Deeper!” yelled Stilinski, and he was right on the edge of the field and Derek was right near him as he saw the ref come running down the sideline. Without thinking, he dropped his clipboard and ran up behind him and gripped him by the hips and quickly tugged him out of the way, feeling the breeze as the ref ran past them.

Stilinski barely seemed to notice, his eyes still trained on the field.

Derek just shook his head.

Not two minutes later, he had to do it again, once more grabbing him by the hips and pulling him out of the way just in time to keep from getting mown over by Dunbar. Damn, that kid needed more practice.

And, _again,_ Stiles said nothing, too focused on the game to realize that Derek had just pulled him out of the line of fire. Did it bother Derek that he hadn’t been noticed? Okay, yeah, sure, a bit, but it mostly just amused him. He quickly realized that he couldn’t take his eyes off Stilinski for a second, so he handed his clipboard off to the water boy, and spent the rest of the game in the Head Coach’s shadow, keeping them from getting any penalties due to his tunnel vision.

At halftime, Argent came over and tapped Derek on the shoulder and said, with a sparkle of amusement in his eye, “So, you’re our new “get-back” coach?” and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Raken and McCall came to me a little over a week ago and mentioned that they were worried about Stilinski possibly giving us a penalty because of his absentmindedness,” he explained. “They asked me to help, and I said I’d think about it. I meant to mention it at the meeting, but…”

He let his voice trail off and Argent chuckled and finished, “But didn’t know how to bring it up. Fair enough. Just wanted to say thanks. You’re doing a good job.”

Derek nodded back at him and headed over to the huddle.

As soon as he arrived, McCall clapped him hard on the shoulder and said, “Thanks, coach!” at the same time that Raken shot him a grateful smile, and then turned into the huddle to talk to the rest of the team and to Stilinski, who stood in the middle of the circle like a king holding court. An apt description for him.

Unlike a lot of coaches, there wasn’t a single hunch to his shoulders, just a straight back and lot of clean, beautiful lines. Unlike other coaches, he’d never actually _played_ football, and a lot of people in the league took personal offense to that, but it didn’t seem to matter, as their team was steadily rising through the ranks with a lot of wins under their belts, all because of the plays that had come from that genius mind of his. He didn’t have an ego on him, either, which was practically unheard of in a Head Coach.

Instead, even as he was setting up their plays for the second half, he listened to all of his players and made adjustments when he felt that they had good points.

Derek watched from the corner of his eye, kneeling on the ground as he checked up on Dunbar, their left cornerback, who was on the bench, making sure that he hadn’t sprained anything in his last tumble. The young man was some sort of magnet for getting into all the worst tumbles and tackles, despite his position on the team, and Derek needed to be sure that he wasn’t injured in any way.

“Does this hurt?” he asked, pressing his fingers just under and to the side of his right knee.

Dunbar shook his head.

“No, coach. It’s fine.”

“Good.”

Just as he was finishing up, he noticed a shadow fall over the two of them and looked up to see Stilinski Sr. standing over them with a bemused smile on his lips. Derek quickly stood back up, sent Dunbar back to the huddle with a clap of his hand over the back of his shoulder, and then turned to face Stiles’ father.

“So,” drawled the older man, “Nice work today. Keeping my son out of the way isn’t an easy task.”

Derek couldn’t help but laugh and replied, “Yeah, well, not like he even notices. I swear, I’m scared what he would be like if he did anything but coach.” They both smiled and then looked over in the direction of the team, and then Derek quickly added, “He’s good at this. I’m glad he’s Head Coach.”

Noah Stilinski gave him a broad smile that held a hint of amusement as he said, “If he wasn’t, I don’t know what I’d do with him.”

Derek joined in his smile and added, “Young but brilliant. Dangerous combination just about anywhere.”

Noah nodded, and they watched for a long moment as Stiles put the rest of the play together and then sent the players their separate ways. The older man approached his son and Derek kept back and watched from a bit of a distance as he said some sort of words of encouragement to him.

Stiles then jogged over to him and took Derek off guard when he said, “You gonna keep me safe on the sidelines, Hale?”

Derek was slightly taken aback, but then replied, “I do what I can to keep us from getting penalties, coach. Even if that means that I have to manhandle you,” he added with an arch of his eyebrow. Stiles chuckled, but Derek felt slightly nervous and couldn’t help but ask, “Uh…you don’t mind, do you?”

He smirked at him, and Derek felt his heart skip a beat.

“Not at all, Hale. You can put your hands wherever you need to, to keep me in line…”

He then sauntered back over to the sideline and it took Derek a moment longer before he caught up to him to catch his breath. Either Stiles didn’t know what he’d just said…or he knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and Derek had just gotten in over his head.

Oh boy. This was gonna be interesting.

\--

Three games later, and it was now instinct for Derek to be near the coach’s side the entire time. He shadowed him better than his own shadow. Every time Stiles got too worked up and nearly got rolled over by the ref, Derek was there grabbing him by the waist, the hip, the arm, the wrist, the shoulder…pretty much anything he could reach.

Okay, so maybe he had preference for his hips. They fit his hands just right.

He was hesitant sometimes, but Stiles always tossed him a quick glance over his shoulder as if to say thank you about every three times or so. Each time he became a bit more comfortable, a bit more bold, and after every game the team would joke that he was the best Get-Back Coach in the NFL.

Derek always rolled his eyes at them, but he secretly enjoyed it. Stiles was even talking to him more; mainly about the players, but there had been a few personal conversations interspersed throughout that he held onto. He now knew that Stiles loved anything spicy and had a weakness for chile-spiced dark chocolate. He also knew that as much he loved football and loved coaching, that enjoyed baseball just as much and even liked the same team as Derek, the Mets. Also, that he preferred a night in on the couch over a night out on the town.

And that he liked boys as much as he liked girls.

Since that last revelation, each time he grabbed him, Derek could swear that he felt sparks under his fingers. It didn’t help that Stiles kept on giving him those broad, toothy smiles of his that kept on making his breath catch in the back of his throat.

It was bad enough that Stiles was distracted, _he_ didn’t need to be distracted as well.

During the fourth quarter, McCall approached him as he was called out during a time-out and said quickly before he was pulled back by Stilinski, “Doing an awesome job, Get-Back coach,” and he rolled his eyes and chuffed him on the back of his bared head, as his helmet was in his hands.

Derek half-listened to the advice that Stiles shot to his first quarterback, his eyes mainly focused on scanning the sideline, despite the fact that they were in a time-out.

Stiles suddenly sent McCall back onto the field and flicked a glance in Derek’s direction, and, as if he was on a tether, Derek was right behind him, following him as the game started again. The game had picked up and they were only fifteen yards from the endzone. They were ahead, but not by much. Derek knew that Stiles preferred to win by a decent margin, and only one or two touchdowns wasn’t enough for him, and that he was most likely aiming for at least two more before the end of the game.

Stiles stalked down the sideline, his eyes glued to the field, Derek’s hands hovering over and near his waist as he kept his own eyes on the referee.

All too soon, he was forced to reach out and drag him back towards him, but this time he didn’t have as much room behind him, and now Stiles’ hips were tucked into his and, oh god, he fit so well. Derek coughed and then let go as soon as the ref was past them, and tried to brush it off as nothing, even though he felt a part of him take definite interest.

He had to do it three more times in the span of ten minutes. God, it was almost like…like Stiles was doing it on _purpose._

No. No, he wouldn’t do that. Besides, it wasn’t possible considering how absentminded Stiles was acting, especially right now as he was still staring at the field and shouting, in a less than serious tone, “C’mon guys, get it together! I’ll have you running laps for weeks if you don’t pull it together!”

Derek chuckled under his breath at that and then reached out once more and tugged him by the waist back to the correct side of the field just in time to avoid getting sideswiped.

“We’re ahead,” he gently reminded him, absently patting his hand on the coach’s ribs, and Stiles shot him a look and smirked as he said, “Not by enough, Der, not by enough.”

And then he winked.

Derek’s breath caught.

\--

A few days later, Derek sidled into the coach’s meeting, just a little late because he’d been supervising a few of the linebackers on the weight benches.

As he made his way in, however, a hush fell across the office and he looked around to see what was going on.

Argent looked up at him from where he stood closest to him, leaning against the wall, and commented, “Well, hey there, mister-hottest-get-back-coach in the league,” and caused everyone else in the room to break out into laughter, leaving Derek feeling like he was being left out of some sort of inside joke.

“Uh…what?” he replied eloquently, and Coach Stilinski senior stepped up and pulled out his phone and said, “Uh, you might wanna see this, son,” and pressed play on a YouTube video he had queued up.

Derek watched and felt his cheeks flush as he saw a compilation from their last two games of every single time that he’d pulled Stiles off the field, all set to tango music, and a brief clip of McCall saying, _“Doing an awesome job, Get-Back coach,”_ followed by Derek playfully hitting him on the back of his head. The video was labelled “Smoking Hot Get-Back Coach of the Ravens Checks Stilinski”. He glanced at the number down at the bottom of the video and saw it rising every couple of seconds.

Oh, god. This was absolutely mortifying.

Stiles looked at him as soon as he’d raised his head and said, “Video was put up last night. Already has over four hundred thousand likes.” Derek swallowed and felt even more heat rush to his head, and then Stiles added, “You’re an internet sensation, Hale.”

He gave Noah back his phone and looked around the room and saw every single coach, except for Erica Reyes, the Special Teams Coach, trying to hide their smiles of amusement. Erica, on the other hand, was outwardly grinning like an idiot, and Derek knew why: she was the only one who knew that he had a crush on the Head Coach, and he knew that she was going to lord this over head for months, if not years, there was no question about it.

He swallowed and said, “Sorry about that. Just, you know…doin’ my job.”

And that seemed to be enough, because Vernon Boyd, the Linebacker Coach, clapped a large, rough hand on his shoulder and said in that low, reassuring voice of his, “And we’re grateful for it, Hale. Now, can we please get back to the meeting?”

His question shook everyone out of their stupor, and they went back to putting together a plan for the next few weeks of training and drills between games.

\--

There was only one drawback so far about the video going viral. He was now getting recognized on the street. When it first happened, Derek figured that it was just a fluke, and so brushed it off…but then it happened again not twenty minutes after the first one.

Derek quickly realized that he was going to have to cover up when he went out and was slightly annoyed, though amused by the whole thing.

Stiles was even making fun of him for it now.

“I mean, I always figured that people stop you on the street anyway,” the Head Coach said, stirring his iced tea absentmindedly as they sat in a booth in a small local diner for lunch one late afternoon. He then gestured towards him with his free hand and added, “I mean, look at you! You’re like, you know…super hot. Who _wouldn’t_ want to stop and talk to you in the middle of the sidewalk?”

Derek rolled his eyes at him, even as he picked at his napkin, and retorted, “Despite being ‘super hot’, no, I do not normally get stopped on the street. Why do you think I’m wearing this today?”

He pointed at the red, threadbare ballcap on the table next to him that looked like it might have had some sort of logo on it at some point in the past, which was where his tacky sunglasses were also perched, almost precariously on the brim of the hat.

Stiles nodded and took a sip of his drink and then said, “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point. But still…” He reached across and tugged on the cap and the glasses. “…Does this actually work?” He made a weird face. “I’ve never understood how the whole hat and sunglasses thing works as a disguise, because the rest of your body is still on full display, and with a body like yours,” he quickly added, taking them back off and putting them down on the peeling laminate table, “I would think that it didn’t matter. You are _highly_ recognizable.”

Derek grinned at him smugly.

“Apparently not, because I didn’t get recognized once,” he said with a grin.

However, the grin was soon wiped from his face as their server approached and his eyes went wide when he saw the two men sitting at the table. The kid (who had a nametag on his chest that said Connor) barely looked eighteen and lit up like a five-year-old at the sight of the two of them…and then hastily handed his pen and notepad over, handing it over to Derek first.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but my brother would _kill_ me if I didn’t get an autograph from the two of you,” he gushed as Derek quickly signed it with a flourish. “He’s been following the Ravens since he was a kid and absolutely loves how the coaches have stepped up their game this year, especially you two.”

Derek handed it to Stiles, who quickly signed it with a smile and then said, “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Keith.”

“Does he play football?” he asked, and Connor nodded.

Very quickly, Derek could see that Stiles was writing a quick personal note to the kid, and his heart melted, and he fell just a little bit more in love with the man. Stiles handed it back to Connor with that dazzling smile of his and the kid lit up even more, if that was even possible.

Without even glancing at the menu, Stiles ordered for the both of them, “Two burgers, everything on them, extra fries for both, and two diet cokes.”

Connor nodded.

“You got it, coach!”

And with that, he left them, practically skipping away from their table, and Derek shook his head and gave Stiles a soft smile and said, “Well, you just made that kid’s day. Hell, I think you just made his year!” and smiled even wider when he saw Stiles’ cheeks flush red and he ducked his eyes, cleaning off an imaginary spot from the table in front of him.

“Yeah, well, it’s the least I could do.”

Derek grinned and then asked the question that had been burning on his mind since that morning when the coach had asked him to lunch.

“Hey, uh…I have a question,” he said tentatively, and Stiles’ eyes came up and leveled with his. “So…when you asked me to lunch today, was that, you know, work related? Or is it, I don’t know, something…something different? Like…personal?”

This time, Stiles was the one to give him a broad grin.

“Definitely personal,” he answered, his eyes light and practically dancing with mischief, and Derek let out a sigh of relief. Oh, thank god, he hadn’t been reading the signs wrong. He let out a sigh of relief and Stiles’ eyes crinkled up at the corners as he then said, “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, and it seemed I probably should, considering we’ve already made it to second base without ever rounding first,” and Derek choked on air, and then laughed.

“Alright, alright, fair enough, but there’s no _way_ that every time you walk into the ref’s path, you’re not aware of it, Stiles. It happens a few too many times for it to be coincidence,” he added with an arched eyebrow, waiting for Stiles to finally confess.

But he was surprised when he threw up his hands in mock surrender and said, “I’m innocent, I tell you! Go back and watch every game I’ve ever coached. I used to be the biggest pain in the ass for my teams because I was constantly earning us penalty after penalty because of my stupid tunnel vision.”

He dropped his hands back to the table and Derek gave him a slightly skeptical look, but then relented.

They then chatted for a few minutes about nothing in particular, and by the time their food arrived, which was surprisingly fast, Derek only had one real question left to ask him.

“Before we eat,” he said, cutting Stiles off just as he was reaching for his burger, “I have one last question.” They locked eyes. “Now that we’re, I don’t know…dating, I guess?” Stiles nodded. “Okay, now that we’re dating…do you still want me to be your Get Back coach?”

Stiles leaned in and reached up and tapped a finger to Derek’s temple.

“Only one I trust to pull me out of harm’s way,” he murmured and he felt something soft and warm settle in the pit of his stomach in a very pleasant way that had nothing to do with the food that they were about to eat.

Feeling better about the situation, he took a bite of his burger.

It was good.

\--

They were nearing the end of the season. It was the last game they needed to see if they qualified for the Super Bowl, and at that point, he and Stiles had been dating the entire time. They had bonded quickly, and it felt he’d known Stiles his entire life.

And, okay, yeah, the sex was great, he wasn’t gonna lie.

In the bedroom, he was allowed to hold onto those gloriously sharp hipbones as often as he wanted to, and regularly marked them up with bruises from his fingers and loving bites, leaving behind teeth-shaped imprints.

Because of how intimately close they had gotten over the past few weeks, Derek could tell that Stiles was way more tense than he usually was. Only thirty minutes into the game and he’d had to pull Stiles back from the sidelines far too many times. He was nothing but coiled, unreleased tension that was only coming out in bursts of anger as he yelled at his players, less enthusiastic and encouraging than he usually was, and more biting and belittling. So…not him.

Derek could even feel it whenever his fingers touched him or the palm of his hand pressed a bit too firmly into his side, or his fingers pressed too tight into a shoulder as he tugged him back from the field.

“C’mon, ref!” Stiles yelled. “What the hell kind of a call was that?! He was over the line, that was a solid three-yard gain!”

Shit. He was arguing with the referee, which was never a good sign. He hadn’t heard Stiles argue with a ref since the one game that they’d nearly lost back at the beginning of the season, and that was how he knew that Stiles was barely hanging onto his sanity.

Luckily, the ref ignored him and instead started to book it down the field, and Derek quickly got both hands around Stiles’ hips and hitched him back a few steps.

Just as he did, he leaned his head down slightly and whispered into his ear, “Stiles, you’re making the team worried. You need to take it down a notch,” and then gently gave him a quick double squeeze with his hands still on the younger man’s hips, and he felt some tension bleed out of him at the small movement.

“Yeah, okay, sure, just…give me a moment,” he whispered back, and went back to pacing the sideline, clipboard in hand, his other hand in his hair. He practically never wore his hat on the field, as he said it obstructed too much of his vision, and Derek wasn’t going to be the first one to complain about it. Actually, he looked kind of adorable, his hair sticking up wildly in different directions, and reminding the Strength and Training Coach of a riled-up hedgehog with the way it spiked out.

Erica approached him on the side and said, “He’s freaking out, isn’t he.”

It wasn’t a question.

Derek nodded and replied, “Yeah, big time.”

She propped her arm on his shoulder and looked up at him with a fond smile and suggested, “Maybe someone should help calm him down. I bet it’d be easy for you as he’s _your_ boyfriend,” and Derek rolled his eyes at her and retorted, “How about _you_ try calming down the youngest NFL coach to ever coach in the NFL, who is one win away from making it to the Super Bowl, and tell _me_ that it’s easy?”

She snorted and tossed her head back, her ponytail bobbing as she adjusted her hat, and said, “Okay, you’ve made your point.”

Derek kept an eye on Stiles the entire time, keeping a wary glance all along the sidelines, trying to catch any black and white movement in his peripheral vision. Nothing so far, but that didn’t mean that they were in the clear. Just because Stiles’ target of frustration wasn’t in range, it didn’t mean he wasn’t still frustrated.

He exchanged a glance with Argent, who looked amused by the whole thing, as per usual, and then looked over at Stiles’ father.

Stilinski senior was standing a few feet away with a sour look on his face, his arms crossed over his chest, and Derek followed his line of sight and saw that he was staring at his son. Okay, so he was worried about him, too. He should probably talk to him.

He walked over to him and nudged his shoulder and asked, “What do you need me to do? Haven’t seen him this bad since the second game this season, against Brown.”

Noah let out a sigh as Stiles paced past them, eyes focused on the field, and then replied, “Your guess is as good as mine, Hale. He’s practically beside himself and the only technique I’ve ever had dealing with this is letting it run its course.” He shrugged and added, “But I’m thinking that’s not gonna work this time. He needs to be coaching, not doing…this.”

He gestured vaguely with his hand and Derek nodded.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He walked back over to Stiles and tapped him on the side, causing his eyes to jump up and over to his, but then he quickly looked back to the field, watching as McCall ran a solid play and gained them seven yards. It wasn’t amazing, but it was better, and Derek saw him light up slightly, but then it was quickly replaced with a stern look.

He quietly rolled his eyes and then stepped into his personal space and put his mouth up to his ear and said, “You’re putting everyone on edge, Stiles. You need to calm back down, remember how good you felt at the last game. You’re not any help to anyone like this, least of all your players,” and he felt Stiles tense under his fingertips, where they were still resting on his side, pressed gently into his ribs in a manner that looked casual, but felt intimate.

“I’m fine,” he bit back at him, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Uh huh, yeah, sure you are,” he replied, sarcasm heavy in his tone, and then quickly tugged him back as they ref came by. “You’re the pinnacle of relaxed.”

Stiles quickly glanced at him over his shoulder, one eyebrow high on his forehead, before snapping his attention back to the game and he said, “I’ll be better once we’re no longer tied. McCall better run that damn play that I gave him, or so help me, I’ll--”

He cut him off.

“You’ll what? Make him run laps? Make the whole team belly crawl the entire length of the field? Twice?” He didn’t have to look at him to know that Stiles was rolling his eyes, so he said, “Right now, they don’t need a drill sergeant, they need their _coach_ , you know, the one with the level head on his shoulders? That’s what that title means, after all,” he added with a slight humorous smile at the corner of his lips. “Head Coach. You’re the _head_ of this team, and them seeing you all riled up isn’t helping them any. You need to show them how proud you are of them. That you believe in them.”

He tugged Stiles back just in time as the ref briskly walked past them, calling a flag on the other team.

Stiles’ shoulders untensed, dropping further away from his ears and he let out a long sigh…and then said, “Okay. Maybe you’re a little bit right.” Derek snorted. “Okay, so you’re a _lot_ right, just stop going all Remember the Titans on me, okay? I’ll tone it down, promise.”

Derek squeezed his shoulders and whispered back, “Good. Now, go win us a game.”

He then pulled back and gave him a firm slap on the ass that had Stiles looking at him with a grin over his shoulder. They had a game to win.

\--

Derek was barely able to make it into the locker room with everyone celebrating. They had won the game. He exchanged a few slaps on the shoulders and squeezed past a few of the players who had ripped off their jerseys and were waving them around like glorified banners.

“Whoo!” yelled Danny, one of their free safeties, right in his ear, slinging an arm around his neck and jumping in the air. “We made it, bitches! We. Are. In. The. SUPERBOWL!! WHOOOO!!!”

He pulled his arm off him and shoved by a few more players, and managed to make it back to the office, where he could see Stiles collapsed on the floor behind his desk, an arm over his eyes, the lights off.

Amused, but also understanding his exhaustion, Derek crouched down next to him and said softly, “Hey, Head Coach. You did it. You’re about to take a team to the Super Bowl. Got anything you want to say?”, and he replied with a grunt and a low moan.

Finally, he groaned out, “Advil,” and Derek chuckled and reached out and tousled his hair and said, “Coming right up, coach,” and left with a parting kiss to his forehead.

\--

He stood on the sidelines and still felt a little bit starstruck. They were at the Super Bowl. They even had a decent shot of winning, too. Derek still couldn’t quite wrap his head around it, so instead he turned his attention back to the Head Coach, who was already pacing alongside the field, looking anxious. They hadn’t even started the game and Stiles was already at risk of developing an aneurysm.

Derek, despite wanting to go over and wrap him up in a bone-crushing hug, decided it would be best if he left him alone for the time being.

Besides…he had other plans for the big game. Other than keeping him from getting run over by the ref, of course.

He checked in with Boyd and Argent, and then made his way over to Stilinski senior, who was talking to a few of the offensive lineman. Derek waited for him to finish up, and then approached him and said, “So, looks like your son is well on his way to having his first heart attack at the ripe young age of twenty-nine,” and Noah chuckled.

“Yeah, no surprise there.” He gestured in his son’s direction and added, “He’s gonna go into the Hall of Fame as it is being the youngest coach ever to do this, whether or not we win. You’d think that would take the edge off, but no. Look at him.” Derek did. “Instead, he’s pacing like his goal is to make a new walking path next to the field.” Too true. Stiles’ hands were in his hair, the clipboard sticking up at an odd angle from the way he held it, and every ten steps, he pivoted and went back the way he came. “I think he just needs to be reminded to breathe. I don’t think he’s taken a breath since he found out we were going to the Super Bowl.”

Derek silently nodded. He thought it over for a moment, gazing across the football field…and then, after a minute or two, glanced back at Stiles one more time, who now stood facing the field, arms crossed over his middle, the clipboard dangling carelessly from the fingers of his right hand, absently grazing his left hip.

Curious at the change, he made his way over to him, nudging a few of the players back towards the sideline as he did with a scathing look and a single stern word. They didn’t need a penalty right at the beginning of the game, after all.

The instant he made it to his side, Derek whispered in his ear, “Remember to breathe,” and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“In and out, right? Or is it up and down? I’m not quite sure,” he drawled, and Derek rolled his eyes back at him.

“Well, you’re already more relaxed,” he observed, unable to help himself as he reached out and nudged at his hip, where he knew he’d put a bruise the night before. “What suddenly has you so calm? Not two minutes ago you looked like a complete nervous wreck.”

Stiles smiled up at him and answered, “You, you idiot.” He then reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his temple and murmured, “I was about ready to have a full-blown panic attack, and then I looked back and saw you talking with my dad and I just…I sorta realized that win or lose, I still get you. That kinda takes the pressure off.”

Derek felt heat suffuse his cheeks and he coughed and ducked his head and then said, “Well, yeah, okay, I guess that’s…okay, then,” and Stiles laughed.

“God, you are so easy to fluster,” Stiles remarked, dropping his arms and putting his hands on his hips.

Oh, those hips.

At that, Derek smirked and felt a brief flash of amusement at what he knew was going to happen later. He’d make sure that Stiles was even more flustered than he was, he was sure of it. He glanced over his shoulder and threw a smile in Erica’s direction, and she grinned back at him. She was in on the whole thing, after all, and looked just as smug as Derek did, and his confidence skyrocketed even further when she mouthed the words to him, “Good luck, Hale,” and his smile stretched even wider.

He looked back at the Head Coach, whose eyes were back on the field, and his smile softened.

It was gonna be a good game.

Win or lose.

\--

It was the third quarter, and everyone was riled up. The stands were buzzing with energy and Derek was having a hell of a time in his position as Get Back coach, as Stiles seemed to be determined to be on the field with his players, forcing Derek to practically have to carry him out of the ref’s way more than once.

They were ahead by a field goal and two touchdowns, but he knew that it wasn’t enough for Stiles. Not even _close_ to being enough.

“C’mon, Jackson!” Stiles yelled at the secondary quarterback, slapping his clipboard in his hands. “I want it _down_ the field, not sideways! _DOWN_ the field!! Let’s move it!”

Derek was quickly checking over McCall, who’d taken a bad tumble during a rough tackle in the previous quarter, forcing them to change their strategy. It didn’t require a medic, but it was bad enough that any extra pressure on it was probably going to cause the knee to pop out of its’ socket completely.

He kept an eye on the Head Coach, even as his fingers deftly applied an ace bandage.

McCall then said, “You got some sort of big plan today, coach?” and Derek quickly snapped his head back to the quarterback.

“What? What do you mean, McCall?”

The kid grinned and said, “Aw, c’mon. You look like you can’t stop from smiling and you keep on looking Coach Stilinski like you’ve got some huge secret or surprise. Seriously, coach,” he gently kicked him with his good leg. “What gives? Super Bowl not enough for you?”

Derek went back to wrapping his knee and shook his head and said, “You’ll see soon enough, McCall. Now, go and get back to that damn bench. Keep the leg elevated for now, okay?”

He jogged back over to Stiles just in time to check him back from getting knocked over by the ref, who had at least two inches and fifty or more pounds on him. Once more, Stiles was laser focused on the field in front of him, as they were only twenty-three yards from the endzone and it looked like he was about to run out there and run the play himself, if Jackson didn’t pick up more yardage on the next play, and Derek let out a long sigh.

Yes, it was the Super Bowl, but Stiles _really_ needed to calm down. Luckily, he had just the thing to keep his mind off the last part of the game.

He double checked the pocket of his far-too-tight khakis (they were required for all the coaches), and then kept on shadowing his partner. Stiles bolted past him as he ran alongside the field, yelling what he thought was encouraging words to his players, though everyone knew that he preferred McCall to Jackson, which was why he was just shy of being nice to the kid.

However, Derek had something else entirely on his mind.

The third quarter came to an end with them gaining fifteen yards down the field, thanks to a beautiful play by Jackson and Raken, while Derek nearly had to tackle Stiles to keep him from running onto the field in his excitement.

“Yeah! That’s how you do it, Jackson! Nice job!” he hollered and then turned and flashed Derek a broad, exuberant smile. Derek smiled back at him…and then put his hands on his waist and just barely dragged him back in time, shaking his head, and wondering when he was going to be able to execute his plan. Now would be ideal, but at the same time, it felt awkward. Best to wait until the end, because he knew that if he did it then, either way, if they won or lost, it would be the best time to execute his plan.

They switched sides, and then the fourth quarter started.

He kept a close eye on Stiles, knowing that his mood would shift drastically if they started falling behind, but like it was some sort of sign, they gained yards quickly and had a touchdown within a few minutes. Derek only had to tug him back twice, which was a good sign that things were going well.

Only ten minutes more if he was right. He ran his fingers absently over the slim box in his pocket that he’d perfectly picked out because it matched the shape and outline of his phone, just slightly smaller. So far, Stiles hadn’t noticed. Of course, considering that they were in the Super Bowl, he was sufficiently distracted that a man in a chicken suit could have walked out right in front of him, and he wouldn’t have noticed. Not that Derek could blame him.

During the last few minutes, he shadowed him, as per usual, and then pulled him back in a swift grab just as the ref ran past and called the game.

They’d won.

Holy shit, they had just won the Super Bowl.

Derek became dimly aware of his team going nuts, and then reached for Stiles before the rest of the team could pull him onto the field, and managed to pull him back to the sidelines one last time with a firm grip on his hips, and then dropped to one knee as soon as he dropped his hands from Stiles’ hips.

Stiles immediately looked around in confusion, and it was obvious to Derek that he was wondering who the hell had just pulled him away from the field when they had just won, and everyone else on the team had already flooded onto the field, yelling and screaming, jumping all over each other, leaving him marooned on the sidelines, supposedly alone. Derek saw the instant he realized who it must have been that pulled him back, as Stiles let out an annoyed sigh and turned to say something.

“Derek, you are officially no longer the Get Back…”

His voice trailed off as he saw Derek down on one knee.

Derek knew that the television cameras had most likely turned and focused on them; most certainly every single network that was covering the game. And he knew that Erica was filming it, too, because he’d arranged it with her. From his peripheral vision, he saw her familiar blonde ponytail and caught a glimpse of the phone in her hand pointed in their direction and her wide grin.

Stiles continued to gape, and Derek pulled out the slim box from his pocket and started to speak.

“Stiles Stilinski, you are…the most single-minded, accident prone man that I have ever known,” he started, and Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes. “I know it hasn’t been very long, not even a full season, but ever since you backed yourself into my life,” Stiles chuckled, “I realized just how much I was missing. I’ve learned more about you than I ever thought possible in such a short amount of time, and I know that I only want one person in my life to be my own ‘Get Back’ coach and have my back, no matter what. So, Stiles Stilinski…”

Stiles wiped the back of his hand across his face, clearing the wetness from his eyes and Derek barely got out the last words as the younger man stared down at him with one of the brightest smiles he’d ever seen on him and he hadn’t even asked him yet.

“…Stiles Stilinski,” he repeated as he opened the box, “Will you marry me?”

There was a long moment of silence…and then he threw his hands to the side and answered, “Well, what the hell do _you_ think, Derek Hale? Of course, it’s yes, you idiot!”

Exasperated, but stupidly happy, Derek pulled out the ring and slid it onto Stiles’ finger and then grabbed him around the waist and lifted him into a tight hug, pressing his face tightly into his neck, feeling a few tears leak out. He was vaguely aware of several players rushing over and cheering them on, but he ignored it.

Stiles hugged him back just as tightly, and then pulled back just enough to capture Derek’s lips, and he sunk into it, no longer caring who saw.

He didn’t know how long they kissed, but when they parted, Stiles murmured into his ear, “I’ll always be your Get Back coach, Der. No way you’re getting rid of me, now.”

He wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
